SIR WALTER SCOTT

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OOUND, sound the clarion, fill the fife! K -' To all the sensual world proclaim, One crowded hour of glorious life Is worth an age without a name.

��546. The Rover s Adieu

A WEARY lot is thine, fair maid,

A weary lot is thine I To pull the thorn thy brow to braid,

And press the rue for wine. A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien,

A feather of the blue, A doublet of the Lincoln green No more of me ye knew,

My Love! No more of me ye knew.

The rose is budding fain ; But she shall bloom in winter snow

Ere we two meet again.' He turn'd his charger as he spake

Upon the river shore, He gave the bridle-reins a shake,

Said 'Adieu for evermore,

My Love ! And adieu for evermore.'

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